


The Revolution

by BlakeBroflovski



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Soldiers, Gen, Mind Control, Minor Canonical Character(s), Original Character(s), Phobias, Post-Canon, more characters to be added as they emerge, more tags to be added as they emerge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:46:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlakeBroflovski/pseuds/BlakeBroflovski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2002.</p><p>Aximili is captive in Kelbrid space. Maybe he's still alive, maybe not. The Animorphs went to find out, but no one knows what they found. Months have passed, and they've sent no word. Nothing has changed. And no one else wants to act, so long as action means the start of a war Andalite forces are stretched too thin to win.</p><p>Old faces already know a war is unavoidable, but a sister Aximili didn't even know he had is determined to avoid it — so determined, she'll call upon any ally, even one long since reviled as an enemy, and sacrifice anything, even the highest of treason, so long as it means getting him back…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For Daniel, Jeannette, and Kacie.
> 
> And, as always, for Jake.

My name is Kafit-Esgarrouth-Semitur.

Yeah, I know.  "Who?"

If you're reading this, you're probably human, and the story you've focused on has been one primarily told by humans.  Andalites don't need to wonder who I am.  Unlike both my elder brothers whose names are famed and revered throughout the galaxy, my name, and the names of my accomplices, are already marked on the short list of infamy and treachery.

Alloran, creator of the Hork-Bajir Quantum Virus.

Seerow, our lesson in the stupidity of charity.

Maybe someday there will be a name for me, too.  Kafit, the Butcher of Andalites.  Kafit's Kindness.

Kafit, the traitor.

But I'm not recording my story to whine, nor to attempt to redeem my name.  I know what I've done and how history will record me, and even if I could change my actions, I wouldn't.  I'm recording this story to explain, and perhaps, to allow you to understand what I came to realize over the course of my actions: that no issue, no matter how clear-cut it may seem, is ever just black and white.

But I doubt anyone truly sees it that way.  I know I didn't, back then.

Back then, everything was black and white.  Commit myself to the military, even though I was barely more than an infant and I couldn't truly enlist yet, even though the Andalite-Yeerk war was all but over?  Yes.  Serve and train under my sole surviving brother?  Of course.  Say goodbye to my parents and playmates, board a Dome ship to spend years, maybe many years, in space, despite my fear of flying?  Naturally.  Visit, for the first time, the planet where my first brother had died and my second brother had become a hero?  Absolutely.  None of it was a question in my mind, none of it had fine print or second thoughts or gray areas to read between the lines.

Clear-cut.  Black and white.  Simple.

Anything but.


	2. Chapter 1

<Ack!> I called, racing through the trees toward my family scoop, where my brother was speaking with our parents.  As I blew out onto the open field, I zipped past an enormous old _therant_ tree at the edge of the woods and fought the urge to turn around, to touch the tree, to try for the millionth time to connect, somehow, with the spirit of the Andalite warrior who used to call this tree his _Garibah_ , his Guide-Tree.  But my front legs didn't get the memo to keep moving, and they stopped dead.  I tumbled tail over head, let out a yelp, and landed flat on my back, skinny legs and big hooves flailing in a knot.

I detangled my limbs and righted myself, but my back was still stinging and I didn't run quite so fast now toward the scoop.  I was thankful nobody had been around to see that.  But as I ran, my stalk eyes twisted to stare once more at the tree called _Hala Fala_.

I called for my brother again.  <Ack!> I screamed.  <My Ack!>  And then, timed so perfectly it was like we'd rehearsed it, a pale blue figure leapt up over the edge of the scoop.

Young, lean in build, and not very tall in stature, my brother didn't seem like much at first.  But once you gave him a second look, you'd understand right away that he didn't need to be physically impressive.  There was something that hung in the air around him, like an invisible aura that made him somehow different.  He wasn't formidable or demanding, but his presence was subtly authoritative.  You would do anything he asked you to do, and you wouldn't question it.

<Ack!> I squealed in delight.  I flung myself at him and threw my arms around his waist, as high up as I could reach, and I buried my face in the soft, lightly tanned fur of his stomach, squeezing him tight as if I hadn't seen him in days, though it had only been a few minutes.  He'd taken a leave of absence to stay with me and our parents, but it wouldn't last long, and he would be shipside again before we all knew it.  Visser One's trial was approaching fast, after all.

He patted the top of my head and chuckled.  <You had a nice supper, Kafit?>

<Yes!> I exclaimed, pulling back and beaming way upward at his face.  His electric green eyes smiled down at me in return.

<Come on into the scoop, then.>  He gestured with one slender arm toward the hollowed-out structure dug into the ground.  <Mother and Father want to hear the word you said to me this morning.>

<Yes!> I agreed, forgetting that I had been calling for my brother and heading toward the edge of the scoop.  I am proud to say that upon entering, my stumble on the downhill slope was not bad enough for my face to rendezvous with the grass again.

My mother, Forlay, held her small female tail blade over her shoulder, and I tapped the edge of my massive blade against hers as gently as I could.  It was a standard Andalite greeting, somewhere between a handshake and a hug in sentiment, and I tended to be a little overzealous with it sometimes; I'd cracked her blade once before.  My father Noorlin's voice echoed in my mind from a few feet away.  <Well, Kafit, what did you say this morning?>

I was near one half of an Earth year in age.  So, in terms of Andalite development, I was at a stage where my mind functioned perfectly well, but I was not able to convey this cognitive intelligence to other people in verbal form.  In simpler terms, I could think just fine, but I was still learning to use thought-speech.  It was very frustrating, because although I was as intelligent as a school-age child, I could speak no better than a human toddler.  Fortunately, I was told that this stage did not last long.  The words came most easily when I spoke with or echoed someone else, so I looked to my brother imploringly.

He smiled kindly and began.  <From the water that gave birth to us,> he said, <from the grass that feeds us, for the freedom that unites us, we rise to the stars.>

<Stars,> I repeated.  My stalk eyes turned upward to stare at the reddish-gold sky above, where the stars would be visible in a few hours.  In particular, I directed my gaze toward the spot in the sky that my brother had pointed out many times to me where, even though we couldn't see it from here, a planet called Earth rotated around its small yellow sun.  I saw something in that sky, and in a flash, I remembered why I'd been running to get my brother's attention, but his next words recaptured my focus and I forgot that sudden burst of memory as quickly as it had come.

My brother continued the ritual without comment, because "stars" was a word I'd said before.  He said, <Freedom is my only cause.>

<Freedom,> I echoed.  I knew what freedom was, too.  We had won the freedom of every sentient species in the galaxy little more than half a year ago, on the day I'd been born.

My brother smiled.  "Freedom" wasn't the new word, either.  <Duty to the people,> he went on, <my only guide.  Obedience to my prince, my only glory.>

<Prince,> I repeated.  I liked that particular word very much.  <Prince.  Prince.>  I grinned at my brother.  <Prince Ack.>

My mother smiled proudly.  <That's right, your brother is a prince, isn't he?>

But nobody congratulated me for saying "prince," because that had been one of my first words.  Instead, my brother continued reciting the ritual.  <Destruction of my enemies, my most solemn vow.>

<Enemies!> I cried with glee.  That was the new word.

My brother laughed and placed a hand on my shoulder.  <That's it,> he commended, and I squealed with delight.  <I explained what an enemy is, Kafit.  Can you tell Mother and Father what I told you?>

I had understood my brother's earlier explanation without difficulty, but articulating it was another matter.  More complex words were difficult to push out of my mind — names in particular, which was why my brother's name was limited for the time being to "Ack" — and while I could make sentences out of small words, there was a certain limit to how many words I could string together at a time, no matter how small.  I tried to paraphrase my brother's earlier explanation in my own limited terms.  <Enemy is who wants do bad.>

<That's right,> my brother affirmed, <an enemy is a person who wants to do bad things.>

Father spoke up.  <How do we finish the ritual, Kafit?  What do we say?>

I squinted sidelong at him.  My brother translated my expression into words.  <I don't think she can say that much just yet, Father.>

I shook my head, giggling.  <Thanks, Ack,> I managed to say.  Even though I could think the ritual in its entirety, pushing the words out into the open was another matter.

My father wiggled his eye stalks toward my mother.  <Oh, I think Kafit will be able to recite the ritual before too long.  Our little one is learning very quickly.>  He winked at my brother.  <Much more quickly than you did, Aximili-kala.>

<Thank you for pointing that out, Father,> my brother said, using a tone he called sarcasm. He'd told me once he had heard sarcasm being used at rare moments by military officers, but he'd really figured it out on Earth. He claimed it was very popular there. I had noticed that he had a habit of pointing out Andalite similarities to Earth and the use of human behavioral patterns, and I suspected that in some ways, he must miss that small, backwards planet terribly.

<At least you were a touch more coordinated as a child,> my father was teasing.  My tail sank a little, and Aximili's hand patted my shoulder blade, reassuring me silently.  <I don't recall any incidents of you running headfirst into the flanks of a squadron commander of a Dome ship.  Though I do seem to recall a story of an incident where you bowled over the _captain_ of a Dome ship… > Father mused, a smile in his voice.  <I'm surprised your brother let you live after knocking his hero flat on his back.  Right in front of him, too, of all things.  At least when Kafit ran into Elfangor's former commander, he remained upright, and Elfangor wasn't around to witness it.>

Aximili's reply was a little stiffer this time.  <It was _his_ fault.  He gave chase.  I didn't see Nerefir until it was too late, and then… well, Elfangor insisted that running was _my_ idea. >

Mother was laughing, and Father arched his tail forward to tap the blade against my brother's.  I'd heard this story.  Bored.  My stalk eyes glanced up into the red-and-gold sky again, toward Earth, and I suddenly remembered again why I'd been running home to get my brother.  I pulled away and started scrambling up the side of the scoop, tripping only once. Unlike my lack of success with thought-speech, the clumsiness was not a result of my age.  I just had ridiculously big hooves.  My brother insisted I would grow out of them, but I wasn't  so sure.  I stumbled up the slope and onto the field, and as soon as I stood on level ground, I jabbed a finger excitedly at the sky.  <See!> I yelled.  My brother and parents followed me — far more gracefully, of course — and turned their stalks up to see what I was pointing at.  <Ack!  What's that?>

He stood near me and bent his upper body downward to rest his chin on my shoulder so his face was next to mine.  <That, Kafit, is an Andalite-made interstellar spacecraft.>

<Ship?> I asked – a word that was synonymous with "interstellar spacecraft," but that I could actually push out of my head.  The thought of a ship made my nerves tingle with unease, but I squashed the feeling.  We were not going aboard the ship.  It was okay.

<Yes, a cruiser.  And that particular ship is heading for the spaceport at the Elupera, where it will deposit an Andalite named Alloran.  He is to meet with the Military High Command.>

<Uh- _lore-_ in?> I giggled. Names always sounded so funny when broken into their phonetic components.

<Alloran, yes,> my brother confirmed.  <We will know soon enough what High Command feels ought to be done about his military record, but… well, based on his history, I really don't think… I mean, if he was able to keep his rank of War-Prince, I don't suppose that…>  He trailed off and sighed.  <Well… odds don't look too good.>

My brother abruptly stood upright and turned my shoulders toward him, moving around so that he faced me squarely.  All four of his eyes stared directly into mine.  I blinked rapidly.  Why was he so serious all of a sudden?

<Listen to me, Kafit,> my brother said sternly, and I wouldn't have dreamed of letting my mind wander anymore.  <You will hear many whispers about Alloran, many things.  Though most of what you will hear will be lies, some things are true.  He is the victim of a terrible past, and was forced to see and do many bad things against his will.  But even before then, he was always an Andalite of… questionable morals.  But you listen to me, and remember this always: there are enemies, who do bad things with bad intentions.  But there are also people who do bad things with _good_ intentions.  These people aren't enemies.  They're just confused.  Alloran was entangled with many enemies in the past, but no matter what he has done, Alloran himself is _not_ an enemy.  Do you understand, Kafit? >

<Ack-mili?> I said softly.  It was as close as I'd ever come to his full name.

<Tell me you understand, Kafit.>

I watched his face with my main eyes while my stalk eyes stared toward the ship, which had been enveloped by a bright line of bluish smoke as it neared the distant spaceport.  And I murmured, <Yes, Ack.>


	3. Chapter 2

_Three Earth years later…_

 

There was nothing to do on this planet.  But there was no way I was going aboard any given one of the ships in orbit, no care for the fact that their grass tasted better, no care for the nearly endless list of things they could assign to put a dreadfully bored _aristh_ to work, no care for the company of my own people, nope, no sir, no ship, not me.  So Prince Caysath was left with little option but to keep me assigned on-planet as a liaison at the aerial base, running odd jobs for the pilots who came and went.  And in turn, I was left with little option but to "chill out," as the humans put it.  Since I'd been living on the surface for nearly a year and a half, I was apparently a real expert on interacting with humans, and was often called upon to provide tips for Andalite tourists seeking Cinnabons.

I had a short list of "tourist trap" areas memorized and pointed human-morphed visitors on their merry ways, but I simply did not understand the appeal.  Maybe it was because I'd never tasted one.  I'd never morphed human, or anything, for that matter.  The morphing technology was a weapon, not a toy.  I was perpetually astounded by the flagrant disrespect of a technology that had been built to combat Yeerk host versatility.  The fact that the war was over now should not have changed the approved usage of Escafil devices.  After all, I didn't see humans using any of their wartime weapons for mundane purposes.

Not that such thinking had stopped me from acquiring a few creatures during a field trip to a Skrit Na zoo, but still.

In the middle of practicing tail fighting moves in a quiet parking lot outside the airbase during my "down time," I paused and turned all four of my eyes upward, as if I could see anything in space from here.  Two Andalite Dome ships were visible in orbit, painted fuzzy and ashen by atmospheric perspective, and on the eastern horizon, I could see a sliver of crescent moon.  But that was all.  The pale blue of the daytime sky completely obscured the stars.

It had been a year and a half since my brother had departed on a search-and-destroy mission and left me at the aerial base to continue my instruction in the field.  He'd felt I would be more comfortable surrounded by his friends and Earth contacts than by myself on the homeworld, but none of them had any time for me, not even our nephew Tobias, who I couldn't even find, so I'd ended up alone here too.  I hadn't gotten news or contact from Aximili in almost six months.

Recognizing the amount of time that had passed was always a quiet shock that made me feel dizzy and nauseated.  It didn't mean necessarily that he hadn't sent any contact, because there was always the possibility of transmissions getting lost in Z-space, but… I knew it wasn't right.  Given my rank, or lack thereof, it would have been highly out of line to ask my superiors for news, but my hearts burned to know the answers to the questions that plagued me day in and day out.  Where was he?  Why had he been quiet for so long?  Then, the question came that I couldn't stop my brain from asking, though it made my stomach flip…

Had something happened to him?

Hoofsteps on the asphalt behind me caught my attention, and I turned my stalk eyes to see who was approaching.  The heavily tanned Andalite prince held up his hands in a gesture of truce, but his eyes glittered with affectionate teasing.  <Easy on the trigger there, killer.>

I nearly squealed with delight.  Prince Breeyar!  Recently promoted captain of the Dome ship _StarSword_ now that Feyorn had retired, and the closest I had to family on this planet.  He'd known me since I was a baby and had always treated me like I was one of his own grandchildren.  I wanted to run to him and seize him around the waist and squeeze until he made me let go.  I settled for smiling as I rotated to face him.

<It is good to see you again, Breeyar.>

<And you, Kafi-kala,> he replied as he held out a hand, inviting me to approach him.  He knew that I was more inclined to physical contact than most Andalites, and he didn't seem to mind as I went to him and hugged my arms around him briefly.  I was always surprised by how much more tan than blue he was, tanner still every time I saw him.  When I withdrew, he cupped my cheek in the palm of his comparatively large hand, smiling silently at me.  Suddenly, something about him seemed off.  He wasn't exactly a talkative person, but by now, he would've made a good-natured snub about the little he must have seen of my horrid attempt at tail fighting practice and offered some guidance.  And the way he held my face in his hand — the Andalite equivalent to a kiss — was a gesture of affection that is not normally done casually, even between parent and child.  This level of quiet from him was disconcerting.

Especially in tandem with the apologetic, almost guilty look in his eyes.

<Breeyar…>  Something in my tone must have alerted him that I'd caught on, because he winced, diverting his gaze momentarily.  The confirmation made my spine crawl.  <What is it?  What's happened?>

He sighed.  <I'm not supposed to know this, so you didn't hear it from me,> he began, hands dropping to his sides.  <But… there was an incident.  Several months ago.  High Command is keeping it quiet to prevent anyone from taking rash action, so only those whose knowledge of it is absolutely necessary have been notified.  I was, apparently, not one of them… but Caysath was.>  The name made me straighten up.  Prince Caysath was the Andalite ambassador to Earth, the highest intelligence in Andalite-human relations, and until Aximili returned, my prince.  If there were a problem between us and the humans, he would be one of the first to know.  And that would be the only type of problem that would require his intervention.

<What happened?> I repeated, more urgently this time.  <Is…>  My hearts did not want to ask this question.  I did not want to hear the answer if it was a bad one.  <Is it Aximili?>

<I am so sorry you weren't told,> Breeyar murmured.  My hearts stopped.  It was as good as a confirmation.  <If I had known, I would have come sooner.  High Command is still trying to generate a story, but they are stalling.  They're unsure how long to wait before deciding the mission has been a failure.>

Something had gone wrong with Aximili's ship.  Something had happened to him.  I knew it deep in my core, and nothing could have convinced me otherwise.

<Where is he?>

<I don't know,> he replied.  His voice was dead and flat, defeated.  <No one knows.  As it is, I am not even supposed to know he's missing, but… I intercepted a transmission.  I was trying to transmit a human cable program from my ship to my grandchildren at home when I accidentally stumbled upon the Z-space communications from Caysath to High Command.  Something about it caught my eye, so I did some digging and pulled up their entire communications log.  It contained a report from former First Officer Menderash, as well as instructions from High Command to Caysath on how to respond to Menderash's report.  The reason Caysath was contacting them now was to find out what his next step should be, since their last measures are most likely a failure.>

Part of me was curious what show Breeyar had been trying to pirate, but that part was drowned out by the fear that was bubbling in my hearts.  <Breeyar.  What.  Happened?>

He sighed, steeling himself to launch the bad news.  Breeyar was never uneasy.  Never.  He was one of the best fighter pilots the military had ever seen; keeping cool under pressure came more naturally to him than breathing.  Seeing him so rattled made me even more afraid.

<He was taken.>

The words hit me as hard as if he had tail-swiped me.  I felt myself rock back, but his arms shot out and gripped me by the shoulders, holding me upright.  My mind couldn't form coherent thoughts.  <Taken?>

He nodded slowly in the human fashion.  <By the Blade ship.>

<Oh, no.>  This time I did rock back, and my swinging hands gripped at his arms for balance.  <Oh, no, oh no no no, oh God—> Breeyar's hands were holding me, and I leaned forward into his tanned chest, my pulse thundering in my ears.  He held me against him, hands smoothing over my shoulder blades, falling silent again.  His words washed over me, ringing in my head.

_Taken._

_By the Blade ship._

_Several months ago._

I sucked in a breath that was way too deep.  <Months?>  And I hadn't been told?  < _Months_? >

<Between five and six, from what I can gather.>  But I didn't need his confirmation on the exact number.  It had happened when Aximili had stopped sending contact to me, nearly half a year ago.  <I suppose they kept it from you because they don't want you doing anything rash from here on the surface, surrounded by armed fighters.  I guess they haven't figured out that you're not a prime candidate for theft of flight-capable craft.>

His words fell on a deaf mind.  <I have to save him.  I have to get him back.>  Wait.  <…Did you say High Command is waiting for confirmation on their last measures?  What measures?>  But it clicked before he could answer.  The reason none of Aximili's friends had come to see me after the communications from him stopped.  <The Animorphs went after him.>

Breeyar nodded, stepping back and holding me at arms' length.  <Jake was notified immediately after the incident and gathered a small elite crew, everyone except Cassie.  They commandeered a cruiser-class prototype Yeerk vessel and took off in pursuit.>  There was a way he said that last phrase that, despite the gravity in his voice, let a hint of fire shine through, a glimmer of the fighter pilot who had commanded my brother for so many years.

But the implication of his words did not escape me.  <Didn't take an Andalite vessel… why?  For fear of being caught by High Command?  Please tell me that's all, Breeyar, please don't tell me it gets worse—>

Breeyar's smile was affectionate, but sad.  <High Command were the ones who organized it, actually.  Probably to clear themselves of blame, because they've gone somewhere that Andalite ships, and Andalites at all, are not allowed to go.>

I felt myself swaying on my hooves, my knees buckling, and gripped at Breeyar's arms again.  The words hit me like hammer blows, like a _hald-wurra_ , knocking my head silly and knocking me flat on my back and knocking me breathless all in one move.  Blow after blow after blow.  There was only one boundary in space that limited Andalite travel, and the renegade Yeerk forces had taken him there, and they had been missing for so long…

<They're in Kelbrid space?>

<And they have been for almost half a year.  We can't know if they found each other, or if any of them are even still alive.>

<I have to find him.>

<I know.  I'm coming with you.>

For the second time, I fought the impulse to throw myself on him and squeeze his waist with a vice-like hug.  His tanned face was so sincere, determined, already committed to throwing away everything he had earned to lead me in my mission, to save the younger brother of the Andalite war-prince who had earned his title following his, Breeyar's, tutelage.

But he couldn't.

I shook my head, a human gesture that allowed me to say no without moving my stalk eyes.  <I want you to come with me, Breeyar.  I do.  Nothing would make me happier than to have you at my side.  But you can't.  What are you going to do, take the _StarSword_ and all its crew into Kelbrid space, Shredders blazing? >

One very determined flash in his eyes, and I knew I shouldn't have asked.  <If necessary, yes.>

<No.  It will trigger the Kelbrid.  We've just ended a long and exhausting war, and we're too worn out and stretched too thin to dive right back in.>

<Then we'll take a cruiser.  Or steal a Yeerk craft, as the human Animorphs did.>  His fierce gaze implored me.  <If you're only denying my guidance because of the treaty, forget it.  You're Andalite too.  You can't cross that line either.  Not willingly.>

But I wasn't to be deterred either.  Sure, Breeyar could navigate space and pilot any craft with an almost laughable ease, he could take down a would-be opponent in his sleep, and he could kick holy tail in combat, whether with his powerful tail blade or his incredible accuracy with a Shredder… and to take an Andalite so battle-hardened into Kelbrid space in a ship built for combat would send of all the wrong signals.  It would violate the treaty.  I couldn't let him kill his record, and I couldn't let him start a war, not even for my brother.

Breeyar saw all of this in my face, and gave that sorrowfully impressed smile again.  <You're so like Elfangor sometimes, you know.>  I felt my hearts swell, and I shifted my hooves with a pride I could not contain.  If I had been human, the comment would have brought me to tears.  <You really won't let me come, will you?>

I shook my head.  <I want to, but…>

He touched my cheek.  <I know.>

<I'm sorry.>

<But you are going to need someone's help, if not mine.>

<You are right.  I cannot do this alone.>  Admitting it was painful, but it needed to be done.  Help was mandatory to save my brother, I knew it, and I could set aside my pride for that.  But if not Breeyar, if not any Andalite, I didn't know who else to turn to.  <But who?>

Breeyar's smile turned a little dangerous, not just because of the prospect of battle, but because of the gears of war turning inside his head.  That crafty look said he was thinking of something impossible.  <You'll need a top-notch warrior.  Someone intelligent and skilled enough to rival me, someone with all the same knowledge and expertise.  A war-hardened general not afraid to get their hands dirty.  And most importantly, someone who is not an Andalite.>

An idea was forming in my head, beyond crazy and incredibly stupid.  Exactly Breeyar's style.  His words echoed in my mind – _not willingly._ <I do have an idea… and there is something you can do to help.>

<Name it.>

The fire in his eyes was so inspiring, it almost made me reconsider turning him down.  But as risky as my plan was, I was only risking myself.  I couldn't risk his company too.  <That Yeerk ship you mentioned?  I'll need it.  And I need a way to get to Kansas and back.  Fast.>


	4. Chapter 3

The walls of the prison were the dull, dark gray of thick metal.  The bars were only slightly shinier.  As my stalk eyes surveyed the cell, I let out a small internal sigh of relief, glad to be on the outside looking in instead of the other way around, like the box I stared at through the bars . It too was metal, but pale purple and seamless, made of solid sheets of Ramonite, no bigger than a human dictionary.  The box was innocent-looking enough, but there was a reason it was behind thick bars in such a tightly locked place.  It wasn't the box that held danger; it was the thing inside the box, the thing I now addressed, although I couldn't see it through the opaque purple surface.

<Esplin Nine-Four-Double-Six, primary,> I greeted the box, trying to sound casual but falling short somewhere between civil and downright cold.

<Andalite,> the Yeerk hidden inside spat in reply.  He, in stark contrast, wasn't even trying to hide his feelings.  Why should he?  He was in a maximum-security prison in the Middle of Nowhere, Kansas, on a planet he'd hoped to win the war by conquering, living in a rectangular box of loathed Andalite technology that kept him alive, enabled him to see and hear exactly where he was, and vocalize freely how much he hated it.

For a moment I just stood there, staring stupidly at the opaque lavender box with its computer interface and miniature Kandrona contained in the bottom, where it sat on a plain wooden card table.  Concealed inside was a slimy gray slug that could easily fit into my small hand that had been the bane of my people for twenty-five Earth years.  He was the most dangerous enemy we'd ever had.  He had made a mockery of our people, our authority, our prestige, and our pride.  He had murdered my eldest brother, whom I'd never had the chance to meet.  He was the reason my second name had come from my second brother, because by the time I was born, my first brother was no longer alive to pass his name on to me.

<Well?> the box prompted with acid dislike.  I couldn't even see him properly and he was already grating my nerves.  <What does an Andalite girl-child want with me?>  He said that phrase, "Andalite girl-child," as if each word were an insult, a joke, but if he was aiming to wound, his shots missed the mark.  "Child" wasn't a word that hurt me. Neither was "girl," though it was technically not quite true. And I really should have expected no less of a Yeerk, particularly this Yeerk, to laughably think itself superior to an Andalite. At least he hadn't said "big-eared" or "anvil-hooved" or "mutant," the names I feared most deeply. Hadn't heard yet, probably because of my brothers' reputations, but still feared.

I mustered my courage to answer him.  <I am _Aristh_ Kafit-Esgarrouth-Semitur. >

The Yeerk responded with cruel laughter.  < _Aristh_?  Really?  They're letting toddlers into the Academy now? >

I straightened my shoulders, trying not to blush and failing.  <I am involved in an underage training program which, upon completion of my studies, will allow me to enroll one year early into the Milit—>

<Oh goodness.  How fascinating,> the Yeerk cut me off.  <Can you put that in a memo and title it "Things I Don't Care About At All"?  Leave it with the guards on your way out, I'm sure they could use some literature to pass the time in this dreadfully boring place.  Bye-bye now.>

<I wasn't finished,> I asserted, keeping my tone cool and unfazed despite the lava churning in my stomach.  Not for the first time, I thought that perhaps I should've followed my training, and not my clearly misguided ideas, and never come to this place.  But I kept my main eyes on the opaque box and said, <In fact, you _should_ care about my name.  Care to know why? >

<Not really.>

I went on anyway.  <You should recognize "Semitur" as the second name of your last host.  I was named this because I was born on the day my brother wrested War-Prince Alloran's freedom from you.  The day you lost Earth.>

<Your brother did nothing,> the Yeerk spat.  <I was undone because I trusted someone else to follow orders and remain loyal.  Not by Andalites.  Never by Andalites.>

<No, not by Andalites,> I said, completely truthfully.  <By humans.  And one single, solitary Andalite.  My brother.  The brother whose second name I now carry.>

The Yeerk stewed in silence.  Then he murmured, <I know the name.>  He seemed to think about that for a moment, and I faltered on the edge of responding, not sure if he had more to say.  I wished I could see him.  <Yes, of course,> he sighed at last.  <I should have known when the humans guarding me obeyed you like dogs that there was something different about you, besides being an almighty Andalite.>  He said the last two words in a tone of heavy mockery.  <So Elfangor has another sibling, eh?  Tell me, girl-child, what would you most like to do right now?>

Narrowing my main eyes, I inquired, <What do you mean?>

<Oh come on, little female, don't be obtuse.  I killed your brother.  I _ate_ him.  I gave him a death that no Andalite would condone for any sentient creature.  I know things about him — things he's done, things he's never told anyone — true things — that could ruin him.  Even in his death, I am still the worst enemy he has ever had.  And here I am.  Captive.  Helpless.  Your Andalite tail blade could do away with these cell bars easily.  You could squash me in an instant.  You could do anything.  There is nobody here to stop you. >

I squinted at him.  <What are you talking about?>

<You think I _want_ to stay here?  You think I'm happy?  It's simple — you want to kill me, I want to be dead, and I can't do it myself.  So make it happen.  No one will ever have to know. They won't find out until too late.  Think — you will have avenged the death of your beloved Elfangor.  Your customs bind you to kill your brother's killer.  You know Aximili would want it. >

<If Aximili wanted it, he would have done it himself when he had the chance.>

<Not if he was ordered not to,> the Yeerk shot back.  <No one is here to stop you.  Do it.>

What was this he was spouting?  What game was he playing?  I eyed the box half-curiously, half-suspiciously with my main eyes, while my stalk eyes scanned the corridor.  Nobody was there, not even any other cells, because this prison had been built for this Yeerk alone.  I had asked the human guards to leave for five minutes — one and a half of which had already elapsed — and with me being the sister of Aximili and Elfangor who were both famed even on the human world now, the guards had acquiesced.  We were alone.

Except, that is, for the cameras.  One camera on each end of the corridor.  Two cameras on the wall opposite the Yeerk, pointing at his cell.  One camera directly above him.  Each camera could see at least half of the others.  No blind spots.  No one could get in — or out — undetected.  Not without some serious help.

<The cameras don't matter,> the Yeerk prodded, having seen my stalk eyes wandering, his tone dripping with false kindness.  <You've asked the guards to leave anyway.  Surely you must be up to something… confidential.  Retrieving information, perhaps?  Why not take my life while my protection is clearly absent?>

I aimed all four eyes on the box.  <I will not be diverted from my purpose, Yeerk.  Your provocation and suggestions will not affect me.  Do you understand?>

The Yeerk let out a chuckle.  <Quite clearly, my dear.  I do know that you have a purpose in being here.  It has not evaded my notice that while your left hand has been clenching and unclenching in retaliation to my, shall we say, impertinence, your right hand has remained in a fist the whole time.  A very carefully loose fist, I might add.  What manner of thing are you hiding in there, girl-child?>  He allowed a moment to pass before adding, <By the way, you may feel welcome to speak freely — especially if you're going to kill me anyway, as I invite you to do — because those cameras do not record thought-speech.>

<Really?> I asked sarcastically, and directed my thought-speech at him alone, so the cameras would not hear.  <Then why was that last message of yours private?  My brother Aximili tells me you're not too keen on whispering, so why the hush-hush now, huh?>  The Yeerk made a small noise of irritation, and it was my turn to laugh nastily.  <I'm an Andalite, slug.  I can tell when a voice is private and when it is not.  Always.>

The Yeerk stewed in silence for another moment, then spat in public thought-speak, <Fine.  Have it your way, girl-child.>  It would appear to the cameras as though he had asked me what I was hiding in my hand, and I'd stubbornly refused to answer.

But that wasn't what I had in mind at all.  Still privately, I said, <It's a hologram emitter.  A very small one. I... shall we say, borrowed it? from one of my superiors, and a friend programmed what it will project.>

<So you have other Andalites in on this little plot of yours too, do you?> the Yeerk asked, and to my surprise, that query had been a private message.

<Yes,> I replied, continuing the exchange of one-on-one thought-speech.  <She and I have the same goal, but she's more exploitative than me.  If she stays safe on a ship, she doesn't get her hands dirty.  This hologram emitter has a fusion-battery life of only two minutes.  Not much time at all.  Once I activate it, we will need to act quickly.>

<We?> the Yeerk repeated, still speaking privately.  To the cameras, we were locked in a staring contest.  <You and this other Andalite?  Oh… oh, you mean you and me!  You think I'm going to work with _you_? >  He let out a cackle.  <You're very funny.>  I glared at the box, wishing I could see him, not saying anything.  After a moment, he demanded, <I asked you before, girl-child, what you wanted here.  You cleverly evaded me.  I expect an answer this time.>

My name is Kafit-Esgarrouth-Semitur.

I am an Andalite military trainee.

And, at that exact moment, I was about to commit myself to performing the two actions most reviled by my people.

I was about to make an ally and save my brother.

I sighed heavily and said, <My brother has been taken hostage.  His captors have entered a part of normal-space where Andalites may not go voluntarily.>

<Ahh yes,> the Yeerk mused, <I have heard whispers that precious Aximili and his beloved band of Animorphs had vamoosed into Kelbrid space.>

My hearts leaped.  My eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets.  But I unclenched my fists, controlled myself for the cameras.  <So… you _do_ know of the Kelbrid? >

The Yeerk laughed.  <I encountered many things while tearing through the logs aboard the first Andalite vessel commandeered by Yeerks.  We aren't the only race that hates you.  Seems you Andalites aren't as righteous as you claim.>

<As my history lessons teach, it was Yeerks who stabbed innocent Andalites in the back,> I retorted, <quite literally.  The Kelbrid are no different from you warmongering slugs.>

<Really?  And what do these Kelbrid look like?>  Before I could get a grip on my reaction, I blinked all four of my eyes rapidly, a sign of embarrassment that the Yeerk recognized.  He laughed again.  <Hm, perhaps I'm mistaken.  Perhaps you're exactly as righteous as you claim, and you make too easy targets of yourselves.  But I am not easily mistaken.  I think it much more likely a combination of the two, wherein your arrogance is what makes you such easy targets.>

<I will not rise to your provocation, Yeerk,> I said stiffly.  I paused, made my shoulders relax, made myself breathe, trying to make my body obey the words I'd spoken, and went on as calmly as I could.  <We have less than a minute and a half before the guards return.  You are the one creature who knows more about Andalites than anyone else, to an extent including the Andalites themselves.  You've traveled the galaxy and you know it well, and as you've just demonstrated, you doubtlessly know more truth about our enmity with the Kelbrid than I've been taught.  You know how to pilot any Andalite or Yeerk ship far better than I do.  You know all there is to know about sabotage and winning battles at any cost.  You certainly are not easily intimidated, and you have never been known to back down without reasonable—>

<As you've said, girl-child, we are short on time.  So if I may cut you off here and wade through the Lerdethak dung of flattery, what you are saying is that you need the help of a battle-hardened, conniving, vicious monster who is better-learned of your people than you are, can pilot a craft, and is not an Andalite, I'm the best fit for the bill.  Am I correct?>

I stared at the floor with my main eyes.  One stalk kept watch over the open doorway through which I knew the guards would return at any moment.  One stalk eyed the box hopefully.  Still, to the cameras, a staring contest, but looking as though I was about to crack.  Perfect.  Execution of the hologram would have to be flawless.

<Your silence is condemning,> the Yeerk sneered.

<Yes,> I confessed.  <That's what I want.  I admit it.  I need your help because of your expertise, I come to you begging for assistance.  Maybe you're a last resort, and that makes me desperate.  You can choose to throw it in my face, say you're content and you would rather stay.  But I'm your only ticket out of here, Yeerk.  No one else will ever come for you.  I'm all you've got.  Take it or leave it.>

<I choose "leave it.">

My four eyes blinked rapidly again.  I hadn't expected a flat refusal.  <Really?  Because as far as I can tell, acceptance is your only way out of here.  Ever.>

Each passing second weighed down upon my tail as the Yeerk mulled it over.  <You've left out the most important piece of information, girl-child.  What makes you believe that I will help you?  Why should I debase myself to bring back to safety the Andalite who stopped me?  Why should I help Elfangor's family?  What is in it for me that could be worth throwing away the hatred that has been all I have to cling to?>

 _What's in it for him?_ I asked myself.  _How about what's in it for you, Kafit?  Stigmatized.  Court-martialed.  Executed.  How could you betray your people?  Betray your teachings?  Betray Elfangor?  Ally with his murderer?  Traitor.  Will you betray one brother to save the other?  Undo Aximili's own hard work to save his life?_

<What's in it for you… Esplin,> I said, addressing him without contempt, my insides screaming denial, <is freedom.>


	5. Chapter 4

<Freedom?>

<Yes.  You're no good to me locked up.  I need you out of here.  And if we succeed and I get my brother back, I'll—>

<Not good enough, Andalite,> the Yeerk interrupted coolly.  <Living in a box _is_ prison, whether or not I'm in a prison building.  Look at me.  All my prowess, all my accomplishments, and I'm reduced to making snide comments at children.  Removal from this facility is all you've got to offer me as a reward for betraying all the values I hold dear?  Then you can take your living brother, and your dead brother's memory, and you shove it all up— >

<Wait.>  I breathed heavily.  One minute, give or take a few seconds for unpredicability.  _Now or never, Kafit._ <That's not what I was about to say.  I'll keep you out of this building, yes.  But in addition, I'll give you a gift.>

<A gift?> the Yeerk repeated skeptically.  <Girl-child, you had better elaborate, before I call the guards and have you removed myself.>

<Your days of enslaving other creatures are over.  But there is still a way for you to have an Andalite body.  Not to _control_ one, but to _be_ one.>  I let that sit heavy in the air.

The Yeerk fell into stunned silence.  I didn't need to elaborate; he could easily extrapolate what I meant.  He stuttered once or twice, then barely murmured, <You can't be serious.>

<I am.  To save Aximili, I am.>

<Surely you know such a gift would be useless to me.  Your people will never accept me among them.  My own people will kill me if I attempt to return.  There is nowhere for me to go.>

<True,> I admitted.  Forty-five seconds.  <But I don't think that matters to you, does it?>

He sat in silence for a moment.  <No,> he said softly.  <It doesn't.>

<Then we have a deal?>

<You would truly break your most sacred law of Seerow's Kindness?  You would give your most prized technology, your most prized weapon, to a Yeerk?  To _this_ Yeerk? >

<Yes,> I said.  <Conditionally.  I give you my word of honor as an Andalite — whatever value you attribute to it — that if we succeed, I will.  If we fail…> Thirty seconds.  <Well, if we fail, neither of us will be alive to complain about it.>

<You're really serious, aren't you?> he asked quietly, incredulous.  <If I help you retrieve Aximili from Kelbrid space, you will undo everything he and Elfangor have done to thwart me.  You will make me once again the most dangerous creature in the galaxy.>

<I don't know that you were ever the most dangerous creature in the galaxy, Esplin, but you're the most dangerous creature my people have dealt with in recent memory.  And it's why I need you.  There's nobody else who could be half as useful an ally in combat against the Kelbrid, _and_ can go into their space.  There's nobody else I can turn to. >  Fifteen seconds.  I gazed pleadingly at the box, wishing again that I could see him.  <It's my brother, Esplin,> I begged.  <What do you want me to say?  Have I offered sufficient motivation for you?>

Fierce pride filled the Yeerk's thought-speech.  I could practically hear him grinning.  <More than sufficient, my dear, foolish girl.  Now get me out of here.>

Five seconds.  I moved my right thumb to cover the button on the hologram emitter.  Then I whispered, <Don't panic.>  And in a flash, I drew that fist back, let out a scream of rage, and swung my arm at the bars of the Yeerk's prison.

Or so it would seem.

With one second to go, I pressed the button and activated the hologram.

Suddenly, an image of me delivering a furious barrage of kicks and punches at the prison cell bars overlapped the spot where I was actually standing quite still.  It would appear as if I had finally cracked and broken the staring contest.  The hologram hid me completely, so that neither humans nor the cameras could see any part of me.  The hologram would hide the soft sounds of movement from within the cell.  But the hologram could no more than muffle the air-splitting FWAPP! of my tail whipping forward, the shrill K-K-K-KINGGG! of a tail blade snapping neatly through steel, and the CLAAAANGG! C-CLA-CLAANG! C-CLAAAANGG! of dismembered metal bars dropping loudly to the concrete floor.

I could hear the guards moving through the open doorway at the end of the hall.  I ducked my head and stepped through the broken bars, staying concealed within a hologram that projected a completely undisturbed prison cell.  The hologram, timed perfectly, projected me noticing the guards, curtailing my outraged behavior, and storming quickly out of the hallway.  The guards, as anticipated, stepped swiftly out of "my" way.

Eight seconds gone.

I approached the Yeerk's holding container.  It was bigger than it had seemed from the outside.  I placed the hologram emitter on the card table, and then with trembling fingers, I touched the box so that it registered the touch of Andalite hands.  I directed my thought-speech toward the onboard computer and ordered, <Transparent.>  The Ramonite shifted from opaque lavender to an appearance that mimicked purple-tinted glass.  I could see who I was talking to now, and I barely managed to suppress a shudder at the sight of the four-inch slug suspended in the murky water, its palps and antenna array casually sifting through the muck, the slimy body slowly undulating like a windsock in slow motion.

Outside, the helicopter that had brought me here fired up its blades with a THWOK-THWOK-THWOK-THWOK.  I was counting on that sound to conceal all that the hologram could not.

I swallowed the nausea and directed my thought-speech toward the Yeerk-in-a-box.  <The hologram is showing you in an undamaged cell for the next minute and forty seconds.  Don't say anything unless it's private.>

And I began to morph.


	6. Chapter 5

Any morph-capable Andalites who ever spoke to me made sure to tell me that morphing is a strange, unpredictable, often unsettling process.

They are right.

I'd been exposed to an Escafil device and I already had four morphs in my DNA arsenal, but I had yet to be given my military test.  And I'd been told many horror stories — with plenty of examples supplied by Aximili — of all the things that can go wrong with morphing: losing control of the creature's mind, insufficient concentration causing morphs to mix, developing an allergy, becoming a _nothlit_ (which had already claimed our nephew), running out of time in the middle of demorphing, among other morbid tales.  Due to fear compounded with a lack of requirement, I'd never morphed before.

So it was more than unsettling.  It was terrifying.

Among the morphs I had available, only one of them could get us out of the building without hassle.  I tried to ignore the two-minute countdown screaming in my head, tried to focus as intently as possible on my morph of choice.

Almost immediately, my stalk eyes disappeared.  SHLOOOPed into my skull and vanished.  I was blind.  I was blind!  I screamed, forgetting the guards and the cameras, screamed and screamed.  Through the numbing chemical induced by morphing, I could feel something funny in my tail… my tail was dissolving!

<Stop screaming, you fool!> somebody yelled.  A moment later I realized it was Esplin, watching from inside his purple box.  <Stop it, shut up!  You're attracting attention!>

He was right.  Too much noise.  The hologram emitter couldn't conceal it all, and it didn't blend in well enough with the noise from the helicopter outside.  The guards each spoke into some sort of primitive communication device.  Calling for backup.  Bad.

<If you blow this you'll kill us both!> Esplin hissed.

I stopped screaming, but couldn't stop shivering.  I tried to talk, but it came out as nothing more than a whimper.  <Help me.  I've never done this before.  Help me.>

<Oh, for the love of… are you _really_ my only hope of escape?  _You?_ >  He sighed.  <Fine, I'll help you if it means helping myself.  Calm down.  Get a grip.  Steady your breathing.>  I obeyed, sucking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly.  <Now ignore the guards, the hologram, the clock.  You can't depend on any of it now.  Focus on the… whatever it is you are trying to morph.  Picture it clearly in your mind.>

I blocked out everything around me and formed a mental image of the animal.  Esplin's voice sank through the haze of my senses.  <Don't think about anything but the morph.  Don't panic, it'll be over quickly.  And then get me the _yaolin_ out of here! >

I ignored the bubbling panic and I focused.  Something changed in my main eyes, and everything in the room was suddenly crystal-clear.  So as I completed the morph, I watched horror-struck with two fantastic, razor-sharp eyes that missed nothing.

My hands shriveled up into my arms, which became long, skinny, fur-covered twigs.  My hind legs shrank and tilted the rest of my body so that I stood on two legs alone, legs that were now thin and coated with slick yellow-orange scales and ended in three-toed feet with hooked talons.  My front legs and my twig-arms slid into new positions on my body, which was rapidly shrinking and reforming to meet the proportion of my morphed legs.  Four limbs popped out on either side of my ribs, eight new fur-covered twigs.  But they didn't stay fur-covered for long.  My blue-violet fur was paling, melting together to form lattice patterns, iridescent shimmering colors of pink, green, purple and blue pastels, reflecting on a white blanket.  The shiny, colorful new coating flowed down all of my twelve strange rib-mounted limbs and stretched the skin and muscles accordingly, giving me six pairs of long, narrow white wings.

My face contorted before my eyes.  My head was shrinking, and when it reached proper size, my huge Andalite ears kept shrinking until they were no more than holes in the sides of my head.  The central vertical nose-slit slipped downward and turned horizontal to form a mouth-hole, and the two remaining nose-slits puckered up into tiny nostrils.  Then, with a sickening KREEEEKKK, the lower portion of my face, with the mouth-slit dividing it, pushed out, out, out, impossibly long, and hardened into a narrow, wickedly curved beak.  Crackling sounds as small, serrated teeth erupted in that beak.  Gurgling sounds as a throat formed in my neck and emerged up through my beak, as my digestive system was rearranged so that food could go in through my beak mouth instead of my feet.  Sucking and popping sounds as Andalite organs vanished and new organs took their places.

And, last of all, the animal's mind settled over mine. Calm, self-assured, unthreatened.  Confident.  Not difficult to control at all.  The only thing it wanted was to get into the open, and that wasn't much different from what my Andalite grazing instincts demanded… and to eat.  The morph noticed the slowly undulating slippery thing suspended in liquid, like a tiny eel with palps. _Esplin is not food_ , I told the morph, told myself.

I twisted my neck to turn my head much farther than an Andalite could and looked down my shiny feathered back at my elegant new tail.  There was no blade on it — especially not the mutant blade that had evolved on my natural body — but I couldn't say I disliked this tail.  In fact, I couldn't say I disliked this morph.  I had gone from a five-foot-tall, big-hooved, big-eared, mutant-bladed child, to a 30-inch-tall, twelve-winged predator.  I chuckled to myself.  Nobody would be calling _this_ body clumsy.

<If I may distract you from admiring your rear end,> the Yeerk called insistently, jerking me out of my reverie.  I could have slapped myself.  I'd been caught in the morph's self-confidence, caught in the morph's brain, wasting valuable time!  The morphing process had taken up a minute and twelve seconds of the hologram, and I'd just spent an additional eighteen seconds gawking at my tail.  Ten seconds left.  If I could have made a display of embarrassment, I would have.  But I couldn't.  I could only glare fiercely.

I directed that glare toward the lavender box.  Flapping my wings a couple times, I managed to hop from the floor onto the card table.  The bird's head cocked sideways as I eyeballed the box of Andalite technology.  It was sure to be heavy deadweight in the air.  I should have tested this morph first, before coming out here.  Were my talons strong enough to carry the box as far as I needed to?

Backup had arrived outside the cell, and the guards were making some commotion about strange noises inside.  They would know what happened in six seconds.

I took a deep breath, filling my small lungs and calming my nerves.  <Time to fly,> I murmured.  Then I grabbed the Yeerk-in-a-box tightly in my talons, pushed off the tabletop, and flapped six sets of powerful wings toward the hologram.

Eight human guards were standing in the hallway, having a debate that was getting a little hostile, when suddenly—

_FWOOOM!_

A large white bird with ten too many wings burst straight _through_ the seemingly intact prison bars, blew down the corridor, and rocketed out of the open doorway with astonishing speed.  They didn't even notice the book-sized purple box it held in its talons.

The guards outside the corridor did.  I emerged into the lobby, and only a few seconds passed before cries of "What IS that bird?!" turned into "It's got the Visser!"  There was a cacophony of clicking as hammers were cocked on pistols — human weapons that fired metal projectiles instead of laser beams.  Primitive.  Very effective.

<Would it be too much to ask for you to find an exit?> the Yeerk griped.  <Because we need out.  _Now_. >

<I know, I know! I just need—>  Then I saw what I needed.  A window.  A window with bars, that I had pushed open earlier to allow a breeze to filter through the room.  <Aha!  I got it!  Hold on tight, I'm going for it!>

<I have nothing to hold on— _aahhhhh!_ >

The Yeerk screamed as I dove sharply and made a sudden beeline for the window.  I blazed over the heads of the humans, tipped sideways, and let my legs trail behind me.  I felt steel tickle the feathers on both my back and belly as I blew out the window, heard clinging sounds as the box scraped through, and heard Esplin crowing a mixture of Yeerk and Andalite curses at the "hapless fools" who had let us escape.  A narrow escape, but still, an escape!

But I wasn't out yet.  Here in the open, my bird morph could really fly.  But here in the open, the turret-mounted marksmen could really aim.  A loud skree-EEE! skree-EEE! pierced the air, and red lights flashed along the building.  But the marksman in the far right turret wasn't watching for an escapee.  He was covering his ears, trying to hold his cap in place, as the helicopter lifted off and kicked a tornado of dust at him.  He hadn't noticed the alarm yet.

Just as planned.

Cinder blocks grazed the tips of my wings as I passed the turret, and kept flying… followed the outer wall of the prison compound as it led me the way I needed to go, and kept flying… I barely dared to breathe.  But it was working.  It was working!  By the time the only marksman who could see me realized what was happening, I would be far enough away that he wouldn't see the box in my grasp, and he would be looking for a sentient escapee, not a bird.

We'd made it.


	7. Chapter 6

I powered my wings faster, faster, carrying the Yeerk to my target: the woods a few miles away.  The forest was too far from the prison for any escapee, no matter what species, to make it on hoof without getting caught.  But we weren't on hoof, and the multiple wings provided incredible speed.  Within minutes, I was diving beneath the tree line.

The canopy of leaves and web of branches provided us with excellent cover, but it was also nearly impossible to navigate.  My morph's wings weren't very thick or wide, but they were long, nearly seven feet from tip to tip.  This bird was meant to fly over tops of the trees, not in and among them.  Still I tried, zipping between branches and weaving around trunks, twisting wildly, letting out yelps of surprise and terror as each turn nearly killed me, my mind screaming to get out of the air, get _out_ , get _down_ —

<A suggestion, Andalite,> the Yeerk said, strangely calm, <so that we may avoid an untimely arboreal death.  I used this morph in my last host, and performed similar feats of acrobatics in the confines of a city.  Stop trying so hard and let the bird do the flying.>

I'd expected to get snide backseat-driver comments from the Yeerk.  But I had not expected that his commentary as a Yeerk would more closely mimic advice that could've been given by an Andalite.  In fact, it _had_ been given to me by many Andalites before, from princes and military instructors, particularly from Aximili — it was sometimes convenient to let the animal be the animal and use its instincts to get out of peril.  Something I should've remembered, should not have needed a Yeerk to remind me.  I felt like dying of embarrassment.

I had stopped concentrating so hard on flying and found that the morph did know what it was doing.  Of course.  This bird lived by spearing small animals out of trees.  It must have to fly in the thick of the forest sometimes.  I tried to squelch the screaming in my gut as we soared completely unsupported in air, and before I knew it, the bird had guided us into an open path.  It was a creek, where the branches didn't hang so thickly and my airspace was clear.  I followed the creek upstream, focusing on breathing, staying calm, and glided on in the silence of the quiet gurgling of the water below me.  And, as I let the bird instincts take a greater hold on the stream of sensory input, I could hear the light breeze whistling a telltale pattern a bit farther ahead.  The bird's brain knew what that sound meant: a clearing.  A warm flood of relief rushed through me, made it that much easier to keep flying — _not too much farther now, it's okay._   The bird's wings had barely begun to tire, and though this morph was tiring of carrying a weight this heavy while weaving through miles of trees, the real problem was my own mind.  I did _not_ want to be in the air anymore, I wanted _ground_ , I wanted _safe_ and _solid_ , nothing falling, giving way to gravity, crashing and burning into— _no!  Focus, focus!_

We reached the clearing and I let the bird guide me in the landing.  My wings flared, killing speed and dropping us rather quickly, and I set the box gently on the ground, flapped once or twice, and landed softly in the grass beyond it.  I began demorphing the instant I touched grass, forming a mental image of my mutant big-eared, big-hooved, big-bladed self.  My terrified mind couldn't stop seeing pictures of the bird gunned down, crashing into a tree, tiring out.  Nothing keeping it up as its powerful wings died.  Spiraling to hit hard dirt.  Trapped under tons of metal, crushing down from all— _stop!  Don't think of that!_

<So, Andalite,> the Yeerk said as pink-green-white feathers melted into blue-violet fur, wings merged together into arms and legs, my beak dissolved into a mouthless face, and a blade erupted from my tail.  <I am very much looking forward to being back on Andalite hooves again, so indulge me a moment, if you will.  Tell me how you liked your first morph.  Relive the stunning detail for me.>

My stalk eyes emerged and I twisted them to stare backwards at the lavender box.  It wasn't so big-looking now that I was myself again.

<You know,> I said, <morphing for pleasure is discouraged.  Morphing is a weapon, and we're supposed to treat it that way.  But this morph is popular for _arisths_ as a method of practicing. >  I turned to face the box a little better.  <Everyone says flying as a bird is so much fun.  I couldn't wait to try it myself.  I thought it would be so different from flying in a ship.  I thought I would be enjoying it for once.>

<You didn't enjoy it?>  He sounded disappointed — not out of pity for me, but because he couldn't live vicariously through my experiences.  I was a failure for myself and for him.

I wanted to cry.  <No.  I didn't.  I'm miserable.  Look at me, an Andalite, in misery.  You can revel in that at least.  Are you happy?>

The Yeerk was silent for a moment.  Then, <Perhaps next time you'll be able to.>

I turned my head slowly to give him a quizzical stare with all four eyes.  What did he just say?  Was he being sympathetic?  Did this creature have a heart after all?

And then he blew it.  <Or maybe there won't _be_ a next time, and you've killed us both with your stupidity.  Kidnapping Visser One outright!  You couldn't have at least thought of a clever bluff?  What were you _thinking_ , you fool?>

<I was _thinking_ , I need to get to Aximili as fast as possible, so I needed you out of there.  I didn't have time to think of a more watertight plan.  Just be grateful you're out, and if you're going to die at least it won't be in prison, okay?>

<Mm-hm, I see.  Well… don't you dare interpret this as a moment of weakness or bonding, but… I had honestly expected to spend the rest of my days in that prison.  I had resigned myself to die within those walls, and to never again see the world through Andalite eyes.  Or any real eyes, actually.  So… thank you,> he said curtly, making no effort to hide the great amount of struggle it had taken to say those words to an Andalite.  <And in truth, I was half-expecting that you carted me out here just to squish me without being reprimanded.  Prejudice, you know, hard to ignore.  But it would seem that you're quite serious.  So… thanks.>

My eye stalks wiggled awkwardly.  <You're welcome, I think.>

<You're still a filthy Andalite, though.>

<And you're still a scummy slug.  But I need you.  So thanks for agreeing to help me.>

<Don't mention it,> he said.  <And I mean really, don't mention it, ever.  I would be culled by my own kind before your warriors could even twitch a tail hair my way.>

<Right.>

He stared at me.

I stared back.

The Yeerk demanded, <Now what?>

I blinked slowly.  <Um.>

<Oh, do tell me you have a plan for what to do once you got me out of there.>

<I do, I do,> I replied hurriedly.

<Good, because you realize that the moment they find that hologram emitter, they will know you took me, morph or not.  Word will spread to your superiors almost instantly.  They are going to put a price on your head.  So we have to keep moving.  As in, _now_. >

<I know, I know, I got it covered,> I assured him.  <It's just…>  I braced myself.  <You're not going to like it.>

<Oh, great.  Now _that_ , I believe.>  The Yeerk paused, probably doing his own version of sighing internally.  <Well, go on, girl-child.  Make my day.>

<It's, um…>  _Go on, Kafit.  You don't have to tell him everything just yet._ <Well, see, there's this aerial base in Los Angeles.  Andalite-human commerce is centered there.  It's where I've been stationed, so I'm very familiar with it.  There are Andalite orbital transport pods in that area, just sitting around unmanned.  And there are Z-space-capable Yeerk ships in orbit, under outward surveillance, but again, unmanned.>

<Yes, however…>  He paused as realization dawned on him.  <Ohh, no.  No.>  He recoiled slightly from me, faltering in his slow and steady undulating.  <No, no no no.  I see where this is going.>

<It won't be easy, but Andalite ships can't enter Kelbrid space,> I insisted.

<And all Yeerk ships in orbit would have the current coordinates of the stolen cruiser-class one, whether it's in normal space or not,> Esplin added.  I tried not to look stunned, but he noticed.  <What?  You didn't know that?  We're not stupid, Andalite.  Each ship transmits not only their target coordinates but their current vector to the entire fleet, so as to rendezvous should a division occur.  Encrypted signals and firewalled data, of course, should a vessel be commandeered by an enemy.>  He put a certain inflection on the word "enemy" so that I got the distinct impression he was talking about me, my people.

I blinked at him for a moment.  <Esplin, that's ingenious.>

<You sound surprised.>

<And you sound offended.>

<Shouldn't I be?> he snarled.  <I repeat, fool, we're not stupid.>

<Yeah, yeah I know, but still… that's brilliant, Esplin, truly brilliant.  I mean, I've never even heard of—>  Wait.  Should I admit this?  It could really bite me in the tail later, if he knew.  I intended to honor my bargain, but how large were the chances of succeeding?  And by the time we got back — if we got back — would what I was about to say still be truth?

The Yeerk laughed.  <Your silence condemns you again, girl-child.  Andalite ships don't have that technology on them, do they?>

<I wasn't going to say that,> I lied quickly.  <I was going to say I'd never heard of any _other_ ships using that technology.  It must also be something you Yeerks unjustly confiscated from us.  As if you could really be intelligent enough to make it yourselves. >

<Right, right, I'm sure,> he replied.  Aximili's frequent use of sarcasm had enabled me to recognize it when I heard it in others.  <And exactly how many _other_ kinds of ships have you studied, girl-child?  How many hours of your xenobiology courses are dedicated to discerning Yeerk intelligence? >

I chose not to answer, just in case.  I ignored the digression of topic altogether and said, <We need to get to the aerial base in Los Angeles, which is, by direct route, just over a thousand miles away.  And we need to get there without getting killed or impeded, and without breaking or losing your box, since you sort of need that Kandrona wave/particle generator to stay alive, with or without a host body.  Oh, and without me becoming stuck in a morph.  So that's the issue we have to resolve first: how to traverse a thousand miles without dying or being otherwise drastically altered.>

<Do tell me you have a plan as to how to do that, girl-child, because if this is going to be a suicide mission, you may as well put me out of my misery right now.>

I grinned smugly at the Yeerk-in-a-box.  <Oh it's a suicide mission alright, but I have a plan to get us off the planet, at least.  I most certainly do.  And another thing.>  I bent down and picked up the box, holding it at main-eye level and staring squarely at the oversized slug inside, forcing myself to look at him with all four eyes and quell the trembling in my hearts at the sight of it.  <We're partners in this, Esplin, whether you like it or not.  Each of us needs the other to get what we want in the end.  That means _neither_ of us is in charge, _neither_ of us is the boss of the other.  We're equals now, no inferiors or superiors, just you and me and a plan.  That doesn't mean we have to like each other.  It just means we have to put aside differences and act civil, stick to business.  I don't care about your past titles; I address you by your name.  I expect the same out of you. >

<Hm,> the Yeerk considered.  <I do so hate the sound of my name coming from Andalite speech, but if you insist you will not call me Visser, then… fine.  Fair enough.>  He paused.  Then, completely unabashed, <What did you say your name was?>

< _Aristh_ Kafit-Esgarrouth-Semitur. >

<Ah.  Well for starters, if you're not going to call by my rank, then we'll do away with " _aristh_ " as well.  You don't even have that rank yet anyway, and you know it.  Didn't you say your name was supposed to mean something to me?  Given the circumstances… "Semitur," now there's an interesting one.  Rather ironic.  Do you know that War-Prince Alloran-Semitur-Corass was disgraced before he fell under my control?>

<Yes.  Everyone does.  Elfangor served under him once, and he told Aximili all about that experience.>

<Oh, _all_ about it, did he? > the Yeerk crowed.  <Did he tell your brother _everything_ about that mission?  For example… how he met _me_?  How I was still in the body of a Hork-Bajir when he met me, but that changed?  Did he his noble tale include exactly _why_ that changed? >

Something in his tone was making me nervous, like I didn't want to know the answers to those questions.  But that was preposterous.  Elfangor was my brother.  What could he have wanted to hide from his own family?  <He said that Alloran was maddened by the war.  That he had done unthinkable things because _your_ people drove him to it.  Both of my brothers were very clear about that point in every tale they've ever passed on of him. >

<So then, you would know what Alloran had done to be disgraced before he met me.>  His tone, however, contradicted his words, suggesting that I probably wouldn't know.

And he was right.  I'd never been told, not even in Aximili's renditions of Elfangor's tales.  <You have said that my silence is condemning, Esplin, so I guess I'll just confirm it this time: no, I don not know what he did.>

<Hmm, interesting.  Your people point out who among them is disgraced, but they tell you only that the stigma exists, not _why_ it exists.  You are not given the full history, only the punch line, making you unable to formulate your own opinions or even disagree with the opinions they press upon you.  You are forced to believe only what your teachers want you to believe.  How very like you Andalites to use dishonesty for self-preservation. >

I felt a swell of indignation.  <Like you have any room to talk.>

<I may be a conqueror of worlds, but at least I'm honest about it,> he replied coolly, and it was honestly pretty hard to argue with that.  <I find it even more fascinating that your elders protect the pride of their race by lying to their young.  You are not told what atrocities your own people are capable of.  You really don't know what the old officers call Alloran behind his back?  You haven't heard them call him the Butcher of Hork-Bajir?>

My stomach flipped.  <No,> I said quietly, <I haven't.  Why would they?  You alone are responsible for more Hork-Bajir deaths in this galaxy than any other living creature can claim.>

He let out a laugh that made me feel sick.  <The Andalite arrogance never ceases to amuse me.  Not amaze — I know how arrogant you are — only amuse.  I think you would be astounded to find how wrong you are — how many hundreds of thousands of Hork-Bajir your dear war-prince killed before they were even Controllers.>  He laughed again, and call me crazy, but somehow I knew he wasn't lying.  One leg shifted uncomfortably.  <Well, take my word on this, young Andalite — Alloran knew the difference between right and wrong, but the brutal savagery of war blurred that line.  Circumstance changed what acts were excusable to him and which ones were not.>  The slug swam very close to the edge of the box and "stared" up at me.  I couldn't tell if it actually changed his perspective, but it definitely made my skin crawl.  <I'll bet you consider yourself a traitor for even considering allying with me.  But, given the intent, are you sure that dear Alloran wouldn't be proud of his namesake after all?>

<I don't presume to know anything about former War-Prince Alloran's beliefs and values,> I responded stiffly.

The Yeerk cackled.  <Of course not.  You Andalites are never presumptuous about anything, are you?  Oh, dear child, how you amuse me.>  He laughed a few moments more, then calmed himself.  <But you Andalites address each other on a first-name basis, do you not?  And so you… you would go by Kafit.>

I sucked in a rather-too-large gulp of air.  The Yeerk had said my name.  The Abomination had said my name.  It sent a thrill down my spine.  Of fear?  Of hatred?  Of something else?  Excitement that this might actually work?

<Hmm,> the Yeerk hummed thoughtfully, either not noticing or simply choosing to ignore my reaction.  <And you say you had never morphed before today?>

<No, I hadn't.>

<Interesting, very interesting.  Quite fitting.  Don't let this comment swell your abnormally large Andalite head, but you did handle that morph decently for your first time — but then, is that so surprising, given your name?>

I smiled, unsure whether to take any of his seemingly complimentary words at face value, and shrugged in the human fashion.  <Maybe not.  Perhaps there's a glimmer of hope for this team after all.>

Somehow, I felt that if the Yeerk had been capable of smiling back, he would have.  Not for certain a pleasant smile, but still, a smile.  <Perhaps, Kafit,> he said.  <Perhaps.>


	8. Chapter 7

<This is hopeless.>

<No, it's not,> I insisted. <You're shooting it down right out of the gate.>

<Allow me to recount this aloud, in case you missed the part where this makes no sense. Your brilliant plan is to fly out to California on a _slow-moving airplane_ , with Visser One held blithely in your little hands. The first problem with this is that you expect it to actually work, but the bigger problem is how to get to the airport in the first place. You, however, have decided to morph a bird. Again. Except this time, you will be strapping me — and I quote — " _mostly_ securely," to your _stomach_ , with a harness that you made just now using pieces of grass. And you will be morphing a lowly Earth bird to travel the distance in one long flight. Oh wait, _not_ one flight, because you will have to demorph before two hours. Which will require you to stop in the middle of nowhere, _take off the harness_ , demorph, prance about, remorph, and _strap me back on again_ , without hands. Do I have you completely correct here, or am I missing something? Preferably something vital that would cause all of this to make the remotest amount of sense?>

<First of all, I have utter faith in my knot-tying skills. If you knew me, you would too. This is one area in which my talent is unrivaled. Not the most prideful of unbeatable talents, but hey, I'm practically a baby, right? I'll take what I can get.> The Yeerk's only reply was a dubious snort. <But to the point, the Canada goose is not a "lowly" Earth bird. It's a very powerful Earth bird.>

<It preys on single-celled aquatic plant life. Not exactly what I would call formidable.>

<So it's not a freaking Bievilerd. It's not huge and it has no natural weapons. But it can fly up to sixty miles an hour. I think that's a good enough marker of being powerful. Second off, I'll have to carry you in a harness because this bird doesn't have talons and its beak isn't big enough for your box to fit.>

<Completely useless feet and mouth? How helpful. I repeat: not what I call formidable.>

I ignored this comment. I could be annoyed by the Yeerk's sneering, or I could brush it off. I brushed it off. <Third thing: The bird's got some serious endurance, but not good enough to get us the whole way to California in a reasonable amount of time. The plane's not instantaneous, but this way, it'll only take about six hours total, as opposed to the full day it would take to just straight fly. So we'll have to take the plane.>

<And you couldn't have taken the superior-powered fighter that I presume brought you to the prison in the first place because…?>

<I was brought to the prison by a helicopter, which you may have noticed aiding our escape. And I don't have a fighter waiting because they're partly controlled by though-speech print patterns. If I have been blacklisted already, I will be unable to fly one.>

He let out a noise that could have been a snort or a laugh. Maybe it was a little of both. <And how do you expect to pilot one when we get to the air base?>

<I have a plan for that, too,> I assured him. <What, don't you trust me?>

I'd meant the comment to be snarky, but the Yeerk said, <I haven't decided yet. And what exactly is your proposed strategy for taking an airplane? Hijack one?>

<As it so happens, I have a private plane waiting for me, which I acquired by using the too-often-underestimated power of being a cute little girl.> Esplin snorted again, and I said, <Trust me, it's completely irresistible to humans. And last thing: I'll need to use a morph that's pretty innocuous. This bird is very common all across this continent. It won't attract attention.>

<Yes, of course not. A forest-dwelling bird, usually a member of a large flock, flying _solo_ toward a densely populated metropolitan area, and wearing a _shoulder holster_ containing a purple box that looks _identical_ to the one known to house Visser One, the same Visser One recently kidnapped by an Andalite who could be in any morph at any time. That's not a conspicuous scenario at all. We surely won't attract any attention. This has laid all my fears to rest. Indeed, why was I ever concerned? Silly me. When did you even have time to acquire this creature? >

<There was a captive one at a Skrit Na zoo I visited on a school field trip.>

<Why would they have a— never mind, I don't think either of us could explain the Skrit Na.> He let out a sigh, then muttered, <I must have been really bored to have ever allowed myself to get into this mess. We are both going to die horribly.>

My stalk eyes continually surveyed the ground and sky for potential incoming threats, but I kept my main eyes trained at the box on the ground beside me. <Look, I don't see _you_ churning out any dazzling ideas to get us into orbit. >

The slug just kept slowly undulating, his palps pointed at me. The more I watched him, the clearer it became to me that the direction of his head actually determined his range of vision. <Here's a dazzling idea: why don't you do something that's _not_ stupid and suicidal? >

<Oh, but stupid and suicidal is my favorite game, Esplin, haven't you noticed?>

<Believe it or not, I had,> he grumbled. <Blazing Madra, of all the Andalites I could've gotten stuck with, why a girl-child with a death wish who is completely inexperienced at morphing? We are wasting valuable time here!>

<Oh, quit whining. Would you rather go back to prison?>

<Did I ever really leave? How bored _was_ I? This was _such_ a stupid idea…>

<Crangar's tails, of all the Yeerks I could've gotten stuck with—>

<Don't you _dare_ continue that childish nonsense, > he warned, and my stomach turned at the sudden dangerous change in his voice. <If you mock me one more time, Ramonite container be damned, I cannot be held responsible for what I'm going to do to you.>

The rolling in my stomach was pure instinct, fueled by knowledge of who he was and what he'd done. I had to remember that right now, in this situation, he was just a worm in a box. His threats were completely harmless. I shot an impish grin toward the box. <What are you going to do, annoy me to death?> If the Yeerk made a comeback, I didn't hear it, too concerned with focusing on my second bird morph in only a few minutes.

This time, the first thing that happened was my arms pushed out to either side, out and out, growing long, longer, longer still, and stretching the flesh to form completely naked wings, then with a soft PFFFTTTT, grayish-brown and white feathers popped out all along the skin. I had mondo-sized goose wings on an Andalite body.

It was pretty cool, until the next few seconds when several changes happened at once. My nose-slits did that forming-a-mouth-and-nostrils thing again, and a flat, black waterfowl beak, nowhere near the _kafit_ 's beak in beauty, pushed out from my otherwise unchanged face. My tail shriveled up and formed a pathetic little bump on my rump, with white feathers sticking up in a puffball. I heard a revolting SPLEEET! and my head got pushed upward as my slender neck stretched out long. I mean like, baby giraffe long. And my butt plumped up hugely, so huge that my hind legs sagged with the weight, and then it erupted in a poofy fan of oily black feathers.

I twisted my ridiculously long neck to stare over my fat beak at my embarrassing backside. <Well, that's just great,> I moaned.

The Yeerk burst into hoots of coarse laughter. <Now, _that's_ attractive! > he cried. <Wait, let me call Hugh Heffner for you. I think _Playboy_ subscribers would _love_ to see this. Or at least somebody from _Ripley's Believe it or Not!_ >

<Come on,> I pleaded with him as my front legs sucked up into my enormously puffed-out chest and I leaned back to avoid falling flat on my beaked face. <You've morphed a million times. Surely you must be able to convey some sort of sympathy with me here.>

<Hmm… nope!> the Yeerk cackled, so full of glee it was nauseating. <Fresh out of sympathy, and my stocks are not scheduled to be replenished today. But I _can_ offer some bitingly snide comments! Hey, can you pause the morph right there? > he asked as my already-huge hooves began to flatten out into webbed feet on the ends of my still-Andalite legs. <This is priceless. Please tell me the interface in this box stores visual data. I need a holo made of this.>

<Can you please just shut up?>

<Excuse _me_ , princess. I would like to remind you that I have been trapped in a shoebox, bored out of my mind, staring at the inside of a prison cell, for two years. I'm out, and I'm seeing something funny. I'm going to laugh at it. I think I'm entitled, don't you?>

My massive ears shriveled and disappeared, and my body finally started to shrink to goose-sized. <I guess so,> I grumbled.

<Good. Glad to see we're on the same team here.>

<Yeah, yeah,> I muttered. Blue-violet fur turned into brown and black feathers, my stalk eyes vanished, and my legs shrunk into leathery sticks. My skull flattened out and changed size and shape to fit the bulky beak. My belly turned completely white. My body stopped shrinking. I was a goose.

<And I thought you couldn't possibly look any more ridiculous,> the Yeerk sneered.

<What? The morph is finished.>

<I know.>

I had no idea how to dignify that with comeback, so I let it go. There were more important matters to take care of, anyway. I had to somehow get my wings into the harness I had fashioned out of reeds. The lavender box was already fastened very securely; I'd tied it down before going goose, back when I'd still had fingers. As I'd told Esplin, knot-tying was one of my precious few talents, and I had absolute confidence in their ability to hold. No Yeerk skydiving today.

Whoa. I shook my head, very un-goose-like. Had that thought been real? Somewhere in my mind, hard reality suddenly sunk in. This was really happening. That was really Visser One in that box. I was really doing this. And it meant I really had to protect him. He was my brother's killer, and I had to do everything in my power to keep him alive.

Too late to turn back now. No other option. Not that there ever had been, not really. My only other choice had been to partner with Breeyar and all but declare outright war with the Kelbrid. I sighed heavily and watched the Yeerk body slowly undulating in the translucent viscous Yeerk fluid. <You ready to buckle up?>

The Yeerk jerked visibly, whipping his head my way. <You mean right now?>

<Um, yeah. I'm morphed and everything,> I stated blandly, holding out my wings to display that they were no longer skinny purple arms. <Of course I mean right now.>

<Do you think it might be prudent to rest a bit before embarking on this quest?>

<Esplin, we've talked about this. The prison guards know we're in these woods. They'll have likely sent out all kinds of search troops. We haven't gotten more than a few miles deep, and they'll probably look near water first, because both of us need water to survive. We are sitting in front of a creek. They'll find us. It's not a question of if; it's a question of when. The sooner we take off, the better.>

<Look, I'm just saying this all seems extremely un-rehearsed, and that can be deadly.>

<You, who faced the Animorphs hundreds of times with no preparation and acquired dozens of deadly animals across the galaxy, are worrying about _this,_ now? >

<I…> He started to retort, but stopped, and the steady undulation of his body faltered. <I suppose I am. Is that normal?>

I stared at him as best I could with the slightly-sideways-facing goose eyes. <Normal for… what? Why are you asking me?> He remained silent, still undulating haltingly, and after a long moment, I asked, <Are… are you okay?> It was a question humans often asked each other sarcastically as a means of conveying secondhand embarrassment over another's actions, but I was quite serious. He would be no use to me if he was beyond function.

Then he did an amazing thing. His palps wiggled. They actually moved back and forth, like an Andalite's eye stalks would do as a gesture of uncertainty. He muttered, <Fine. I am fine. I'm just more than a little unnerved that your brilliant wild goose chase plan to rescue your brother literally involves geese.>

I would have grinned, if I'd been able to. <Good. Glad to see we're on the same team here.>

<Would you _stop_ taking everything I say and throwing it back at me? You honestly don't have to try so hard to be a pest. You're already an Andalite! >

I resisted the urge to mimic him in a whiny voice. Prejudice, you know, hard to ignore. Instead, I muttered, <Sure, right, sorry. Now don't freak out, cause I've got to get this thing into place, but I bet this is gonna be a little, um… bumpy.>

<My bet is, that was the understatement of the decade, right there.>

 _You don't have to try so hard to be a pest, you're already a Yeerk_. Externally, I ignored the jab.  <Now, how to work these wings...?> I wondered aloud. Maybe one at a time would be the most intelligent approach. I fully extended my right wing. <Hm. Well, let's give this a shot.> I moved into position over the box, pressing my belly on it as if warming an egg. A very, very large and uncomfortable egg. Dipping my outstretched wing to the ground and leaning sideways awkwardly, I managed to slide most of the limb into the corresponding loop of the grass harness. I glanced at the other loop of woven reeds. The angle looked tricky. I might be able to do it if I could bend my wing in a certain direction, and on cursory examination, it didn't seem as if that was possible. <Um. Got any suggestions, Esplin?>

<Good thing your breast isn't obfuscating my view. I can see exactly what you're doing.>

<That was _not_ a piece of helpful advice. At all. >

<Well what do you expect me to do, become a telekinetic and magically warp your wing into fitting into this ridiculous grass contraption? Just… _do_ something! >

I groaned in frustration, which translated to a HUUNK sound that grunted out of my beak. <I know what I _shouldn't_ have expected you to do — be in any way helpful. >

<On the contrary, girl-child, I am going to be as helpful as possible if it means having the morphing ability returned to me. Being helpful, however, requires that you give me something to work with. And in typical Andalite fashion, you refuse to lend assistance to anyone else while loudly deflecting all self-incrimination.>

With much effort and careful maneuvering, I managed to get the harness over both sides, flap my wings to jostle the straps into place, and pull the bowline knots tight with my beak. The goose's long neck turned out to have one advantage I had not predicted: it was very easy for me to glance downward at the purple box tied to my tummy.

I made a vocal cluck at the slug. <All set?>

<Why are you asking _me_? You're the one that had to secure this stupid thing. _You_ tell _me_ if I'm all set, and please tell me I am, because let me tell you, being strapped to the gut of a typical human dinner, I am feeling mighty undermined right now. Assure me that you are at least competent enough to figure out how to tie a secure knot. >

<Trust me, Esplin,> I pledged, <you _don't_ need to doubt my ability to tie a knot. I was asking how you're doing mentally, but you sort of answered that. And you know, if you're just scared of flying, or of going to an Andalite base, I can understand if— >

<Don't be absurd. I'm not afraid of flying. And I'm certainly not afraid of your people. I know every loophole in your laws and exactly how to exploit them.>

<Okay,> I said quickly, <fine. I'm just saying. You don't have to get snappy with me. But of course, if you insist upon doing so, I can always drop you off near the compound and find someone else formidable but slightly less useful to help me out…>

<I am _not_ going back there, you foolish infant. Ever. You can kill me first. And I want my morphing powers back. > He let out an audible thought-speech sigh. <Fine. I will attempt to be not-quite-so-nasty henceforth. If that's good enough for you, then get me out of here as quickly as this pathetic morph is able.>

<Alrighty then,> I consented, turning to face northeast and spreading my wings, recalling one of Aximili's favorite sayings. <Let's rock and roll.> Then I flapped toward the treetops and we were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: pentaVIP  
> tumblr: leviebooks.co.vu


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